


Sollux and Gamzee: Art Hour

by rainbowBarnacle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Brainbent, Gen, Markers, art therapy, dawwwstuck, later Gamzee finds a little note on his stomach reading "2ollux captor wa2 here"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:30:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowBarnacle/pseuds/rainbowBarnacle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Brainbent drabble, in which Gamzee attempts to drag a reluctant Sollux off to art therapy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sollux and Gamzee: Art Hour

You find Sollux Captor in the rec room. He is wearing the same ratty jeans and “There’s no place like 127.0.0.1” t-shirt he was wearing two days ago, unwashed hair, and no shoes. He has curled himself up on the arm of the couch and is staring unseeingly at the turned off TV.

The frown he’s got going on ain’t his pre-coffee scowl or his “they ran out of danishes at breakfast before I could grab some” face. You’ve seen his moods shift around enough by now to know when he’s revisiting all the bad shit in his head, and the moment you see that look on his face, your heart sinks.

You flop down on the couch next to him anyway and pretend like it ain’t no thing.

“Hey, Solbro!”

No answer. He just keeps on clinging to the couch like he wishes he could disappear down inside it, his skinny shoulders hunching up to his ears at the sound of your voice. Even his toes curl up tighter.

You smile. “Yo, Captor. We gotta get movin’ man, it’s time to get our art on. We gonna be late, and then we’ll miss the part where your bitchass roommate is all to be pulling that prank with the glue and the glitter.”

He makes a face and sighs through his nose. “Fuck off, Gamthee, I’m not in the mood.”

You stifle a sigh of your own and bite your lip as all the words you had planned up abruptly leave you. You never know what to say when he up and shoots you down like this. You force down the helpless feeling making your chest all tight and lean your elbows on your knees so you can look into his face. “Aw, c’mon bro, you’re always saying that and then you’re busting your ass up laughing not five minutes after you get there.”

You watch the tense lines of his shoulders, his spine, how his nails dig into the upholstery. You expect him to blow up. You _hope_ he’ll blow up—at least then you’ll know your words got through.

He doesn’t even so much as blink. He ain’t gone; you’ve seen him when he’s completely absorbed in a task or when he’s got that look that means a hundred different ideas are swarming in his head and he’d rather focus on them than notice the rest of the world passing him by.

He is very much still here, he is just silent, annoyed, waiting for you to leave.

It’s the worst sort of quiet because you don’t know how to break it. Being ignored is a motherfucking king sized drag; you’d gladly have him in your face and screeching as long as it meant he wasn’t shutting you out like this. It makes you feel _awful_ like nothing else in the world.

A thought flits through your head—Tavbro would know exactly what to do.

You wonder how he deals with it.

You sit there in silence a moment, and then an idea occurs to you. You drag in a deep breath, let it out, and clap him on the shoulder briefly. He squirms, but otherwise doesn’t react.

“Be right back, bro.”

* * * *

You didn’t expect Gamzee to come back. You hoped he’d get distracted by something shiny and leave you the fuck alone. No such luck; he returns inside of five minutes and plunks his narrow clown ass next to you in a way that jostles the cushions. You wince and glare at him.

“Gamthee, what the fuck. I thought I told you I wathn’t in the mood. That generally meanth I want you to go away.”

He just smiles, all stubborn cheer, and holds up a handful of those double ended washable crayola markers with the stupid names. “No can do, my brother. If you ain’t comin’, then I can just get my creative juices flowin’ right here with you. Ms. Paint said it was all okay with her since they got people checkin’ in on us and shit.”

You’re prepared to be annoyed, but something about that entire second sentence makes you snicker in spite of yourself. “You didn’t bring any paper, dumbath.”

He uncaps a purple marker with his teeth and spits it out. “Don’t need any.”

You frown as he starts drawing on the back of his hand, some random twisty tree looking thing that spreads up his fingers. You might think it was sort of pretty if it wasn’t so weird.

“What ith even with you and drawing on people? Firtst there wath that crathycake thing, then you painted Nepeta’s fathe, now you’re going to drive yourthelf to an early death with sharpie marker poithoning?”

He shrugs a shoulder and starts drawing tree roots down his forearm, speaking without looking up. “Don’t even know, man, I just go with it.”

“You bitharre little man.”

He cracks a grin as he turns his marker around and removes the cap to the green end. Your brows rise in surprise as he begins drawing with his left hand just as easily as he did with his right. “Ain’t nothing wrong with bein’ that, Twitchy Bro.” He is quiet a moment as he finishes doodling the weird eyeball mandala looking thing on the palm of his hand. “You wanna try?”

You snort. Part of it is his voice—he is very carefully not looking at you, trying as hard as he can to be nonchalant and smiling, but you can tell it would mean the world to him if you did. That doesn’t stop you from eyeing him dubiously. “What part of sharpie marker poithioning did you not hear earlier?”

“Nah, man, I don’t think this shit’s toxic unless you’re, like, all drawing on your tongue or something.”

He puts a marker in your hand. It is red on one end and blue on the other. You turn it to see what the name is and facepalm: Appleberry blast. Of course.

“Why do I get the thneaking thuthpithion that we’re both going to end up covered in rainbow shit and thent to the showerth again?”

He lifts his head and grins at you. “You talk like that’s a _bad_ thing, bro.”

You grin back as you yank a cap off and roll up his sleeve. “Fine, jethuth, anything to make you SHUT UP.”


End file.
